We All Fall Down
by NineFeathers
Summary: Even Assassins have clumsy moments. Originally a fill on the AC kinkmeme.


Altaїr knew that if he stopped running, he was a dead man. This knowledge alone overrode the terrible pain in his overworked muscles, and the overwhelming urge to duck around a corner, collapse, and vomit his guts out. This chase had gone on far too long, and Altaїr knew it had to end soon.

His lungs screamed at him to stop running, but the arrow that sailed past his shoulder kept him moving. Black spots speckled his vision as he gasped for air and vaulted a low wall. His focus was fading quickly, and he slipped once as his boots scuffed the stone wall of a low building. He caught the edge of the roof with just his fingertips, leaving a fair amount of skin behind as he hauled himself up. A glance over his shoulder revealed that he had accumulated an impressive following of city guards.

The half-second that glance took him cost him much more in the end, as his left boot struck a loose, crooked brick and sent him sprawling, completely off-balance. He felt a dim crunch and hot flash of pain as he landed awkwardly on his shoulder. He attempted to tuck and roll back to his feet, but his exhausted muscles failed him, and he stumbled again, his toe catching in a rotten roof-beam.

Altaїr pitched forward, precariously regaining his balance and moving into a low crouch to traverse the narrow beam. Below him were the ruins of a bell-tower, half-collapsed and full of rubble. The beam creaked ominously under his weight, and Altaїr moved faster, knowing too well the telltale snap of failing timber. The beam collapsed suddenly, and Altaїr was falling, fingers clenching around nothingness, with the breathless, terrible knowledge that whatever broke his fall was going to hurt badly, provided that he lived to feel anything at all.

His head struck something solid, and the world collapsed into darkness.

Altaїr woke gradually, roused by a vague, distant pain that seemed to intensify the longer he lay still. The pain slowly grew, filling his hazy mind until it could no longer be ignored, his injured body shrieking at him to wake. He opened his eyes and for a moment thought that he had gone blind, as he could see nothing but empty darkness all around him. This illusion was dispelled as his blurry vision slowly resolved. Shafts of light crisscrossed the dark ruins of the bell tower, illuminating clouds of dust motes disturbed by Altaїr's fall. For a long while, Altaїr could do nothing except lay still and watch the fading light.

When the fog finally cleared from his mind, Altaїr assessed his condition. He wiggled his fingers and toes, relieved that he could feel the grit beneath his fingertips. He carefully drew up one leg, then the other, expecting terrible pain. He felt the dull ache of overused muscles, nothing more. His head throbbed sickeningly, and Altaїr closed his eyes, feeling for the wound with a shaking hand. His fingers brushed a sizeable lump on his forehead, swollen and sticky with oozing blood. Even the light touch sent a spike of pain through his skull, and Altaїr swallowed hard as the urge to vomit choked him.

He sat up carefully, gritting his teeth as the walls blurred and spun around him. Pain speared down his back and along his ribs, overriding all other impulses and dropping him back to the floor. Nausea gripped him and he managed to turn in time to vomit, a hand clenched around his side to brace his broken ribs as he heaved. He collapsed back to the floor, eyes squeezed shut in agony. He lay still until the pain faded back to bearable levels. It was cold on the floor, and his body shivered with shock. He knew he had to get out of the bell-tower, but doubted that his injured body would allow him to escape.

He sat up again, slowly, allowing his swimming head a few long moments to adjust to being upright. The searing pain in his back returned, but this time he was prepared, and managed to remain sitting. A large stone block sat on his left-hand side and he rested his hand against it, and used it to brace himself as he rose to his feet. The muscles in his legs quivered, sore and worn out from the long chase. The injuries to his back and ribs complained as he continued moving, but he was aware that if he fell again, he would not be able to rise.

Altaїr knew well that all bell-towers had doors, and hoped that this one was no different. He leaned against the cool stone wall, unable to straighten fully. Broken glass crunched under his boots as he slowly examined the rubble for signs of an exit. The door was easily found, and less easily pried open from its jammed position. Altaїr stepped cautiously into dying daylight, and swept the empty alley with blurred vision. The guards had gone, foolishly assuming their quarry dead.

Altaїr was glad for the cover of twilight as he made his way back to the Assassins' Bureau of Jerusalem. His injuries prevented him from seeking the safety of the rooftops, and the deep shadows of evening obscured his tired, limping form. Altaїr's raw fingertips brushed the pouch at his belt in which he had thrust the stolen map. It was still there, tucked safely against his hip.

Several times, Altaїr had to stop and lean against a building and catch his breath. Each time, continuing on became more difficult, as the desire to sit down and rest grew stronger. Each step jarred his broken ribs with a painful grind, and his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He could barely stand straight without the injured muscles in his back sending stabs of pain along his nerves.

He hoped Malik's map was worth the misadventure.

By the time he reached the Bureau, it was fully dark, and Malik had doused the torches. Altaїr knew better than to try climbing to the roof. He slipped around to the back of the building, dragging his fingers along the rough wall until he found the tiniest of seams. The hidden back door, well-camouflaged so that Malik could enter and exit quickly. Altaїr found the odd brick in the step with his heel and shoved downward, until he heard the faint click of the mechanism on the opposite side releasing itself. A door appeared before him, cracking open with a faint breath of incense and burning lamp-oil. Altair dragged it open and stepped inside.

A sword touched his throat, its wielder invisible.

"Safety and peace, Malik," said Altaїr evenly, slowly bringing his hands away from his sides, fingers spread. The sword pressed more firmly against his neck for a fraction of a second, then dropped away, and Malik stepped out of the shadows.

"Your presence deprives me of both, Altaїr," came Malik's reply, in the same casual tone. The long sword in his hand glinted in the faint lamplight.

Altaїr stepped into the tiny office, the light from Malik's lamp illuminating only his dirty robes. Malik could not see his eyes under the shadow of his hood. Bruised, bloody fingers produced a folded piece of parchment from a belt pouch, and Malik did not miss the streak of blood across one corner.

"The map you requested." Altaїr sounded tired and looked exhausted, slumped and smeared with dirt and blood. Malik looked him over carefully as he pretended to study the map, noticing how carefully the Assassin held himself, favoring his right side and shoulder. Streaks of blood had dried on his jaw and cheekbone, the only parts of Altaїr's face currently visible.

Altaїr turned away from Malik, heading for the Bureau's outer garden, presumably to wash up and rest. Malik followed him, noting carefully the protective arm around his side. He stopped at the fountain and drew back his hood. Malik frowned to himself when he saw the nasty gash on Altaїr's brow, dark with dried blood.

"You are injured, Altaїr. Certainly pick-pocketing this map was not so difficult? Most novices could complete such a task with little trouble."

Altaїr let out a long sigh and cringed as he dabbed at the wound on his forehead.

"Malik, you have no idea."


End file.
